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  Carl, examining the hull, called out eagerly that it was not so bad after all, that it was barely punctured here. He was cheerful only for moments, though. He had moved round now only to find a substantial hole on the starboard side, as big, he told Roslyn disconsolately, as a plate.

  He pottered for a while longer, then climbed back again. His first words were: “Sorry, mate.”

  It was offered so wretchedly that even had Roslyn blamed him ... and how could she? ... she would have softened.

  “Carl, it wasn’t your fault, if it was anyone’s it was mine, for not letting you know what Marcus said.”

  “I should have known myself, or I should have made it my business to know. Now—”

  “Yes? Now?”

  “That’s the trouble, Ros, now—well—”

  He became silent, but Roslyn broke into the silence. This was no time not to know. She asked Carl for a direct answer.

  “The Great Barrier is a busy place,” he shrugged in reply, “the Whitsunday is like a motorway, but—”

  “But?”

  “But we’re off that motorway, Roslyn. Even the tourist yachts from the coast would only chance on us here.”

  Roslyn thought that over.

  “Well,” she said determinedly, “it still can’t be for long, can it?”

  “I just told you, Ros, we’re off the beaten track.”

  “The Harpurs?” she asked.

  “I told you about them, too, remember? I wanted to surprise them, so I never let them know. Meaning” ... a hunch of his shoulders ... “there’ll be no alarm there.”

  “Mrs. Marriott!” Roslyn said brightly. “She’ll do something when we don’t return in time.”

  . Carl was silent again. He now had gone a distinct red and it was quite some minutes before he spoke. “I told her we could be longer,” he admitted at length.

  It was an unwelcome announcement, but Roslyn was determined not to show it. “Yes, I expect you would,” she encouraged. “After all, you couldn’t be sure.”

  “I told her as long as—several days,” he submitted, and this time Roslyn did object.

  “Oh, Carl, you wouldn’t!”

  “Yes. Look, Ros, I’d never been out on the Reef. I’ve had my nose to the grindstone ever since I arrived here, and I thought ... well, I thought ... Also, I had your company, and that clinched it. I’m sorry, girl, but we could stay a week and Marrie still wouldn’t fuss.”

  There was quiet between them for a while.

  “Then Marcus Moreno,” Roslyn said distastefully. “He’ll raise an alarm.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on it. He’s as stubborn as they come. So long as the child was safe that would be all he would bother, particularly after the way you—we gave him the slip.”

  “Don’t include yourself, Carl, it was my doing entirely.”

  “When you raced back in the jeep to the field I didn’t question you, though.” Carl sighed. “I was just as anxious as you to get away.”

  “These are all post-mortems,” pointed out Roslyn presently. “We must try to progress, not retreat. Or at least to establish our position.”

  “It isn’t good,” he admitted frankly.

  “Yet not dangerous,” she insisted.

  “Not yet, but how long do you think that hole will remain that size? Every movement of the sea will force the hull into the coral again. Eventually water will flood right in. Even given good weather and no other interference, we haven’t any food, Ros. I saw no need to store any when we were going to the Harpurs.”

  “When the tide runs out we could forage,” she suggested.

  “I’m depending on that. Depending on an atoll or two cropping up out of the nothingness. But as soon as the tide comes back, we would have to come back ... that is, while there’s something to come back to. If a high sea gets up it could play havoc with Dorothea in minutes.”

  Roslyn went under the canopy and found the basket she had fetched. In it she had packed some biscuits for Belinda, who was a nibbler. “I think,” she proposed, “we better start as we might have to go on, and ration these at once.”

  Carl looked admiringly at her. “You’re a good mate, Ros,” he awarded.

  “I have to be for a good skipper,” she awarded back. There was nothing to do until the tide turned. They sat under the canopy waiting for the sun to move further west, then they cooled off on deck, trailing their fingers in the water. Roslyn was astonished when she looked at her watch to see that so much of the day had been used up. It seemed only moments ago that they had left the surgery for Clementine to collect Belinda’s shoes.

  “If the night goes as fast,” said Carl when she spoke about time, “it will help, for I hardly think we can look forward to an evening of luxury.”

  She had not thought about night. She should have, having remarked on the passing of the day, but until she hadn’t. Carl must have read the look on her face, for he said:

  “Sorry, Ros, but I don’t think there’s the likeliest hope of us not bedding down here.”

  “Some boat might come.”

  “I told you, we’re off the motorway.”

  “Planes?” she suggested.

  “Off their route, too. But tomorrow it could be different. We might find that a string of atolls have emerged and so be able to atoll-hop across to some island where we can raise an alarm.”

  She nodded. “Is there water?” she asked.

  “Plenty of that, thank heaven. I always see to water. Then with Belinda’s biscuits we’ll manage for a while. Anyway, even if we got to an island there would be no chance of food, there’s nothing on these islands in the way of sustenance. No fruits, no edible roots.”

  “We can trap fish.”

  “We’ll try, anyhow, and clams and oysters are there for the taking. Look, the tide is actually turning now. Not much, in fact infinitesimal, but one of Dorothea’s planks is emerging where before you couldn’t see it.” He pointed to a wet surface. “In the morning,” he went on, “when we wake up we’ll probably be sitting on top of the world.” He laughed determinedly and Roslyn made herself laugh back.

  The night came quickly, as tropical and near-tropical nights do. But what Roslyn did not expect was the drop in temperature, not in these latitudes. In the cane evenings remained balmy, but as the light went here, a cool breath blew in. Because there was nothing else to do, she and Carl had decided to try to sleep at once, so as to waken early to start their atoll-hopping, or so they planned. Carl had fixed a tarpaulin so that it folded over several times and did the work of a blanket but still, cuddled into it, Roslyn shivered. She only wore a thin dress. She had not even brought a cardigan. Carl found a pair of old overalls for her, and she bundled them on top of her clothes, but still she shivered.

  From his end of the tarpaulin, Carl called: “Don’t freeze when closer settlement can solve the problems, Ros. I promise you only honourable intentions.”

  “That doesn’t sound very flattering,” Roslyn giggled, “but the closer settlement is certainly tempting.” She wriggled across, felt his warmth and was asleep in minutes.

  She was awakened by an excited Carl telling her to come and look. Clumsy in her too large, enveloping bib and brace, she stumbled out to the deck, and there gazed her surprise.

  Dorothea was literally circled by atolls.

  “The tide is right down,” Carl said, “and will stay like this for some time. All the same, we’d better explore at once.”

  “Breakfast first,” insisted Roslyn, handing him a biscuit and a pannikin of water. “Imagine,” she challenged, “that that’s bacon and eggs.”

  “I take pineapple with my bacon.”

  Then, presto, it is!” Roslyn waved an imaginary wand.

  They did not waste a crumb of Belinda’s biscuit. Then Roslyn took off the overalls which would only impede her, laced up the shoes she had removed for sleep, and followed Carl over the side of the Dorothea. The boat, she saw, was perched almost like an ornament on a birthday cake. Carl showed her
the hole. It was a large one, and cracks ran from it, not auguring well if a storm rose. But the storms, Carl informed her cheerfully, should be over for the year.

  They picked their way carefully, for though they both wore substantial footwear, coral could be knife-sharp, and inflict a nasty wound. They made their way to the nearest emerged atoll, Roslyn looking out for trapped fish in the leftover puddles of water in the rocks, though how she would have cooked fish, she did not know; Dorothea had not been equipped for cooking, and there was not even a Primus stove aboard. Oysters would be handy, though, she said to Carl.

  The doctor was not listening. He was obviously disappointed with the atoll.

  “I did think that the reef outcrop would continue to another crop,” he sighed, “and so on and so on until we could reach somewhere fairly likely, and by that I mean somewhere to wave from, shout, raise a signal. But the other side of this thing is simply too deep for us to walk.”

  “Yes,” Roslyn agreed. She had caught up with him and was peering down into the blue weaving depths “Deep enough for fish,” she said.

  “And sharks.”

  She took her fingers out of the water. “Are you serious?”

  “Very. Even whales come up here on their honeymoons, so sharks would have to be expected, too. Yet even then, if there was an island in sight, I’d take a risk and swim.”

  “You’d do nothing of the sort,” forbade Roslyn sternly.

  “Why not? According to statistics people take as much risk every day crossing a city street.”

  “Promise me you won’t,” insisted Roslyn.

  “I promise you. For one thing there’s no accessible island, only this string of drying-off atolls, and for another thing I’m not the best of swimmers. Oh, Ros, Ros, what have I got you into?”

  “So far only a rather exciting adventure,” Roslyn lied. “What are you fretting about, Carl? We’ll search for oysters and clams and then go back home. We should consider ourselves very lucky at least to have that home.”

  “I expect so. I expect other shipwreck-ees ... is there I such a word?”

  “Victims would be more usual, but we’ll make up a new name.”

  “They would envy us the Dorothea, high, dry and safely up on the reef.”

  “Yes,” said Roslyn slowly ... very slowly. For she had been looking around her as Carl talked, and her glance had reached the Dorothea, or at least where the Dorothea had perched. She must have made an error, she; turned her gaze in a circle again. Then:

  “Carl, it’s not there!”

  “What isn’t? What are you talking about?”

  “Our boat ... your boat ... the Dorothea!”

  He wheeled round and began sweeping his gaze the same as she had done. She heard him mutter under his breath.

  “What’s happened?” she asked. “It couldn’t have gone, not high and exposed like that.”

  “It hasn’t gone. It’s still there. But something must have loosened her, or the coral has given away. Anyhow, she’s veered right over, Ros, she’s on her side. By high tide she’ll be completely awash.”

  Abstractedly it came to Roslyn that the oysters she lad laboriously prised away, the clams she had pulled open, had dropped down on the reef, and were already being sucked into the water. Vaguely she thought: “We’ll need them, because Belinda’s biscuits will be soaked and inedible.” She squatted down and retrieved as many as she could.

  “Carl,” she said as she rose up again, “what are we going to do?”

  “I don’t know, Ros, I just don’t know. We could try mother atoll, see if we can reef-jump from there to somewhere else. But it would have to be at once, because—”

  “Because by full tide,” came in Roslyn, “these atolls won’t be here at all. But it’s foolish to do it, Carl, foolish to hope that the last atoll is within reasonable distance of an intact island, because at full tide yesterday, remember, nothing showed at all above the water—except us.”

  “You’re right,” ‘he nodded gloomily, “where the Dorothea has reefed is the highest spot, but what a night lies ahead of us, girl! Last night will be a luxury hotel in comparison. Then suppose the seas build up?”

  “You said yourself that that was unlikely.”

  “It is, but up here next door to the unpredictable tropics anything can happen.”

  “But even a big sea shouldn’t rise high enough to sweep us off.”

  “It still could,” he shrugged, “and even if it didn’t, what an ordeal, hanging on for grim death while you’re soaked to the skin. For you would be, and will be, Ros.”

  Roslyn was looking around her. She knew she must seep up Carl’s spirits and that the only way was to keep up her own.

  “It’s all too beautiful to paint such a gloomy picture,” she said, and leaned deliberately up and took his face in her hands and turned his glance to each horizon in turn. Within a minute he was smiling ruefully, still desperately worried, but smiling.

  “What a girl!” he capitulated. “You should be the skipper, Ros.”

  “I will be for a while, then. I just lost our lunch, Carl, so get cracking and gather as many clams and oysters as you can to make up for the loss.”

  “Also for dinner tonight,” he nodded.

  “Carl, we’re going to be away by tonight.” Roslyn could not have said why she spoke like that, except that it was not entirely to snap Carl out of his doldrums, nor was it to snap herself out. It was something else. Not a pre-knowledge, not even a confidence, just a sure feeling that Marcus Moreno—

  Marcus Moreno. Why had she thought about Marcus? She bent over and began to clam again. It was comforting to have optimistic thoughts, she knew, but foolish, too. As though Marcus—

  Her brightness, however, had affected Carl. She heard him whistling as he took out his penknife and began prising oysters from the stubborn rock.

  When they could carry no more, they made their way back to the Dorothea.

  They deposited their lunch and dinner in a safe position, then surveyed the damage to the boat from the fall. It was worse than what they had thought. They could see at once that there was no possible hope of righting the yacht again, that the hole would only tear wider and deeper. Probably, too, the little vessel would not find a coral anchorage as it had before and would topple again immediately.

  Carl tested the exposed portion of deck several times and declared it safe to climb on to. It should be the last portion of the Dorothea, he sighed, to go under at high tide. If the tide rose no higher than last night, then they should be no deeper than their knees. But it would be a cold miserable evening, he warned.

  “They say water is warmer than air,” proffered Roslyn determinedly.

  “Yes, but not as warm, I’d say, as a couple of thicknesses of tarpaulin, but the tarpaulin is now under the submerged side.”

  “With Belinda’s biscuits,” nodded Roslyn. “Anyway,” with a reminding laugh, “you were the warm factor, not the tarpaulin.”

  “I offer my services again,” he grinned.

  “Accepted. I’d do anything rather than freeze.”

  “You’re not being very complimentary!”

  “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Yes, I know, Ros.” Suddenly the laughter was leaving Carl and he was looking seriously at Roslyn. “But I also know you didn’t mean it like I’d like you to mean it. What more heavenly a situation than a coral reef, a full moon, a beautiful girl, even including the other unpleasant prospects? But does it do me any good with you? No, my dear. You simply have no eyes for me.”

  “Carl!” she sighed.

  “It’s true. We’re skipper and mate, or if you like mate and skipper. But we’re not—well—”

  There was a silence. Unhappily Roslyn said: “I do like you, Carl, I like you very much.”

  “But that’s all.”

  “It’s very important.” Liking really is the most important than loving, she was thinking. She had just said it, and she had meant it ... and yet she k
new intrinsically than when it came to the beginning and the ending of everything, it was love that mattered. She did not love Carl, whom she liked, but she loved—

  Oh, no! Roslyn was not aware that she said it aloud. She was not aware of anything, really, anybody, except—Marcus Moreno. I don’t like him, I don’t have the most basic thing of all, which is liking.

  But I love—

  “Ros!”

  “Sorry, Carl,” she apologised.

  “Snap out of it, girl, I didn’t mean to upset you like that—well, not now, anyway, now when we want all our faculties about us. Look, I’ve scrounged the biscuits out after all. They should dry in the sun. Not very appetising, but I think we better hang on to them.”

  “How long can we hang on, Carl?” Roslyn asked practically.

  “Quite a time. We have the first big necessity, water, though I propose eking that out, too, just in case, then with clams and oysters ... Look, I managed your bib and brace as well. Dry them with the biscuits. You’ll need them tonight.”

  This time Roslyn did not say: “We’ll be out by tonight.”

  They opened some of the clams and oysters and put them on the less soggy of Belinda’s biscuits. The biscuits were sweet, and there was no salt for the shellfish, but they were both very hungry by now, and did not mind.

  They collected more during the afternoon, then sat on the protruding deck of the Dorothea and watched the tide rise slowly but inevitably.

  “There won’t be any sleep tonight,” Carl said unnecessarily. “Tomorrow if possible we’d better find some sandy spot on the atoll between the rocks and grab some shut-eye.”

  They still kept a look-out for vessels. Carl said the Navy exercised up here, and perhaps some exploring souls doing their expected stint on a lifeboat might go off the beaten track.

  “Though I hardly think so, it’s not a popular exercise at any time, and I would say it would be very unlikely to see a boat-load of sweating sailors pull round the corner.”

  “But I can see something right now,” called Roslyn eagerly. “Look! There!”